


5'8 and Unbreakable

by signifying_nothing



Category: K-pop, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, aftermath of almost non-con?, how does one tag that, i just needed an excuse for namjoon to be soft with fragile yoongi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-28
Updated: 2016-02-28
Packaged: 2018-05-23 20:30:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6129135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/signifying_nothing/pseuds/signifying_nothing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in which namjoon doesn't exactly save yoongi, but yoongi isn't exactly able to take care of himself, either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	5'8 and Unbreakable

**Author's Note:**

> i am having some SERIOUS fucking sugamon feels okay i'm upset about it and taking fic recs to ease my fucking unhappiness

Kim Namjoon can't remember a time when Min Yoongi looked small. Even when they first met, when Yoongi straightened his shoulders and declared, _call me hyung if you don't want to die_ Namjoon hadn't thought he looked less than more of his five-foot-eight. Yoongi walked like he had the world and the moon and the stars on strings, he was confident and snarky and he always had a secret between his teeth, in his gummy smile and sneaky fingers. Namjoon looked up to Yoongi, even if he was four inches shorter, because Yoongi was always a big brother, he was always tall and strong and in control.

Which makes the current situation even more distressing than it would have been otherwise. Because Yoongi is standing—slumped, really—against the brick of the alleyway and there's a body on the ground in front of him. His sweatshirt is torn, dirty. He prides himself on being immaculate at all times; unless he's playing basketball or in his ninth hour of recording, his eyes swollen and his lips pale. Yoongi always looks... Like Yoongi. Strong and immovable, unstoppable.

“Hyung?”

Namjoon has to ask because he doesn't recognize Yoongi at first. At first he can't tell that dark hair belongs to his older friend, at first he can't tell that the skinny body against the brick is someone he knows and even when Yoongi looks up, it's hard to tell. Not because of the darkness but because Yoongi's eyes are wide and afraid, his lips are red and open, his cheek is scraped up and his hoodie is filthy and torn.

“Namjoon,” Yoongi breathes, and the man on the ground in front of him moves and faster than light Yoongi kicks him hard in the gut, shoves him across the alley and shudders for breath.

“Hyung should—do I need to call the cops—?”

“No,” Yoongi says, and he stalks towards Namjoon like a hunter. “No, come on, lets go.”

“Hyung?”

Yoongi says nothing else and Namjoon lets himself get dragged to the studio space. He watches Yoongi's fingers shake as he struggles to put in the code, watches him nearly slump against the door to push it open. It's so strange. Yoongi isn't looking at him. He's usually so stiff about eye contact. _Look at me when I'm talking to you._

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Yoongi lies, and Namjoon knows he's lying because Yoongi tenses up and looks to his right, to the floor. “Yeah M'fine, just. I'm gonna shower, I think I gotta change of clothes in my locker.”

“Hyung,” Namjoon tries again, reaching to hold Yoongi's wrist. “Hyung wait a minute, what happened?”

Yoongi jerks away from his grip with ferocity and panic strong enough that he stumbles and Namjoon barely catches him. He fights for a second, grabbing hard at Namjoon's lapels like he wants to shove him away but he doesn't let go.

“Hyung,” Namjoon says, his voice raised in worry. “Hyung, it's okay, you're okay now, it's just me.”

“Shit,” Yoongi hisses and Namjoon holds on tighter. “Shit, Namjoon--”

Namjoon doesn't know what to do when Yoongi presses his head to Namjoon's chest and just stays there, neck bent, face hidden by his hands and he's shaking. Yoongi is shaking and Namjoon is scared, he reaches to—to do something, to hold on to him, to try and make him feel safe without feeling trapped. He just wants Yoongi to feel—to feel _safe._

“It's okay hyung,” he says, and Yoongi takes in a deep, shuddering breath.

“Yeah,” Yoongi whispers, and Namjoon holds him a little tighter. “Yeah, m'okay.”

For a long few minutes they stand in the studio and Namjoon feels Yoongi's breathing calm to something resembling normal. He doesn't move away, and Namjoon doesn't try to force him to. He just feels him breathe and thinks about how small and afraid Yoongi had looked in that alley, how small he still looks in his dirty hoodie with his scraped cheek. There is mess all over the back of his hoodie too, and his jeans. There'd been... A struggle? Namjoon can't tell.

“Hyung?” he offers quietly. “Do you. I mean d'you wanna...”

“No,” Yoongi replies. “I don't. Thanks, Joonah, but.” He shakes his head and Namjoon imagines he feels Yoongi's body jerk with a hiccup, the first touch of crying. “M'okay. Just gonna shower, okay? I'll be right out.”

“Okay,” Namjoon nods and lets go. Yoongi pulls off his hoodie in disgust and drops it to the floor. Namjoon sees the bruises on his arms as he heads off to the lockers and bathrooms. He bends to pick up the hoodie and turns it right side out. It's a mess. There's dirt and alley water, scrapes of tarmac and blood on the collar, in the hood. He hadn't thought to check and see if Yoongi had been hit in the head, hadn't checked to make sure he didn't have a wound that would give him a concussion.

Resolving to only give Yoongi fifteen minutes alone, Namjoon sits down and holds the hoodie, watches the time tick by on the wall clock. He replays the moment in his head, tries to remember what he heard before he turned his head at the sound of a man shouting out in pain. Nothing, really. Struggling, but he'd figured it was a fight. Something being knocked over. Words.

_Let go, let go of me, no, let go—_

Maybe he's just making that up. Surely—surely he's imagining that. Made it up. Yoongi isn't fucking helpless. He isn't weak, he—he'd had it under control when Namjoon showed up, there's no way—

Fifteen minutes have passed and Namjoon goes to the showers, knocking on the door as loud as he dares. “Hyung?” he calls, to no response. “Hyung—?”

“Namjoon,” Yoongi replies, and Namjoon takes a breath, rests his head on the door.

“Hyung, you okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, and Namjoon doesn't believe him.

“Can I come in?”

“Yeah,” Yoongi replies, and Namjoon steps into the showers, pauses. There isn't any steam, the shower floor is dry. Yoongi is just sitting on the bench, still dressed. He's managed to untie one shoe, but that's it.

“I thought you were gonna shower,” Namjoon asks, and Yoongi laughs. It's not a pleasant sound. It's not his gummy smile and awkward guffaw of amusement.

“Yeah, uh. Change of plans. Everything okay out there?”

“Everything okay in here?” Namjoon asks, and Yoongi, god, Yoongi hesitates and then shakes his head, looking down at the floor. He's hugging himself, Namjoon realizes. He's hugging himself with his back pressed to the wall and he's sitting in the far corner like he wants to be able to see everything that's happening in the room with no visual interruptions.

Namjoon's stomach drops.

“Hyung, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Yoongi starts to say, but Namjoon takes four steps to kneel in front of Yoongi, to stare up at him. Yoongi squirms and shifts like he doesn't want to be there, doesn't want to be touched; he flinches when Namjoon touches him, pulls back when Namjoon reaches to tuck back his hair like he's done so many times before because they're friends, because they're almost more. “Joonah.”

“Hyung, what's wrong,” Namjoon asks, lip bitten between his teeth as Yoongi visibly struggles to relax. Namjoon makes it harder—or easier—by shifting closer to wrap his arms around Yoongi's waist and press his ear against his chest, listening to Yoongi's heartbeat rabbit in his chest, running too fast.

“Joonah,” Yoongi says, and it's almost a choke. Namjoon pulls back to look up at him and Yoongi's eyes are red and shining, his fingers are shaking where they're fisted in Namjoon's hoodie. “Namjoonah.”

“It's okay,” Namjoon whispers. “It's okay, hyung, you're safe here with me.” Namjoon feels Yoongi's hands tense up harder, hears his knuckles crack as his head ducks and he curls forward to hide his face. Namjoon feels him jerk once, twice, again. “You're safe, hyung.”

“Joonah.”

Namjoon feels Yoongi, tall Yoongi, strong Yoongi, unbreakable, immovable Yoongi start to crumble against him. He feels that scraped cheek on the shoulder of his hoodie and he feels Yoongi lean forward, hands moving from the arms to the back of Namjoon's clothes and feels him squeeze, struggling to breathe. “Joonah,” he whispers, over and over, his voice weak. “Joonah, Joonah, Joonah. Thank god, Joonah, thank god—”

Namjoon can guess. Namjoon can put the pieces together and he shifts to hug Yoongi instead of hold him, arms around his waist and shoulder, kneeling between his shaking legs and listening to him try to breathe, listening to him struggle to get himself together. It should be embarrassing for both of them. But all Namjoon can feel is terror that Yoongi has been made to feel so fucking small, so helpless. It's wrong. It's wrong and fucked up and Yoongi is tall and strong, but he's tiny and he's shaking and all Namjoon can do is sit there and hold on.

“I've got you hyung,” he whispers, his cheek in Yoongi's dark, soft hair. “I've got you, it's okay.”

For a long time, Namjoon holds Yoongi against him and hopes that he's comforted by his own strong and steady heartbeat. He hopes Yoongi feels tucked in and safe. He feels Yoongi sit up, pull back and watches him rub at his face. His neck is bruised and there is blood, coming down from the side of his head. Namjoon reaches to touch it and feels the lump where Yoongi's head must have hit the wall or the ground. Yoongi shivers and closes his eyes. “Does it hurt?”

“No,” he replies, shaking his head and Namjoon gentles his touch, anyway.

“Come on, hyung,” Namjoon says. “We need to get you home.”

“I don't want to,” Yoongi replies, and Namjoon nods.

“Do you want to come to my place instead?”

“Yeah.”

Namjoon lives about three blocks from the studio, and easily walkable distance but he calls a cab anyway. He makes sure that they're going to be all right, quiet and soft at the edges as he walks Yoongi into his apartment and Yoongi looks a little taller now, his shoulders a little more broad in the warm light of Namjoon's apartment. It's a pretty pathetic bachelor pad but it feels like Namjoon's space and he likes it that way. It's nice to see Yoongi so comfortable in it.

“Do you want to take a shower?”

“No,” Yoongi says, then pauses. “...Yes.”

“Let me find you some pajamas.”

Namjoon wastes time in his living room waiting for Yoongi to shower and get re-dressed. He hears the door lock and he knows Yoongi will be actually showering this time, so he fumbles in his kitchen to make water for hot chocolate, finds a few cans of soup in case they feel like eating. He calls his friends and cancels his plans for the morning—he's going to stay here with Yoongi for as long as Yoongi will let him. He knows enough about Yoongi now to know that leaving him alone isn't going to help, it almost never does. They're such good friends, almost more, and Namjoon wants... He just wants.

“Hyung,” he calls, knocking on the bathroom door. “Hyung, can I come in?”

“...yeah,” Yoongi says, his voice ragged. The lock clicks open, and there is a moment of silence.

Namjoon opens the bathroom door to see Yoongi, showered and dressed, sitting on the closed toilet and staring at the floor. He takes cautious steps closer, and crouches down on the tile to look up at his older friend, who won't look him in the face.

“Hyung,” he says. “Come on, it's okay now. Why don't you come lay down? I'll sleep on the couch.”

“I don't want to,” Yoongi says, and Namjoon stares at him, at his blank and emotionless face. He watches his eyes well up and spill over. “I don't want to, Joonah.”

“What do you want?” Namjoon asks, afraid to reach out and touch him, afraid he will disappear or crack apart or scream in fear. He doesn't want to hurt him. He's never wanted to hurt him.

“Just,” he starts, and sniffs, ducking his head and dropping forward to lean into Namjoon like he had at the studio. Except that he's crying for real now, not trying to hide it. Maybe the locked door of Namjoon's apartment has given him the permission he'd wanted—safe enough to be vulnerable, safe enough to cry. “Fuck. Fuck.”

“Come on, hyung,” Namjoon says gently, touching Yoongi like he's made of spun sugar or thin crystal, like he'll break at the slightest provocation. “Why don't you come lay down? I'll get you some tea, maybe some dinner?”

“I just want to sleep,” he chokes out, and Namjoon nods.

“That's fine, hyung,” he replies, and he carefully gets up. He leads Yoongi to his bedroom, lets him tuck himself down into the navy blue comforter and sheets. He gets up to leave, because he wants Yoongi to get some rest, but Yoongi's skinny white hand is around his tanned wrist and he can't look away from the contrast in their skin colors.

“Stay,” Yoongi whispers, chokes. Like it costs him part of his soul to admit that he needs Namjoon to stay, needs him to stay close. “Please. Joonah.”

“Okay,” Namjoon replies. “Let me get changed, okay? Brush my teeth n'shit.” Yoongi lets go and Namjoon gets his nightly clean-up done as fast as he can manage, ignoring the dishes in the sink and the clothes in his dryer. He gets into bed and after a moment of hesitation, offers his arms to Yoongi.

Yoongi is strong and flexible. He's five foot eight and unbreakable, he walks like he has the sun, the moon and all the stars on strings and he's beautiful, and maybe the secret hiding between his teeth when he smiles is that he's just as human as Namjoon is, just as small and scared and alone.

Without thinking, Namjoon bends forward and presses his lips to Yoongi's forehead, just at his hairline. There is a moment of silence, then Yoongi wiggles a bit closer and Namjoon feels a little more secure, because Yoongi's arm is wrapping around his waist and Yoongi's lips are on his chin. They're friends, but they're almost so much more.

“We're gonna talk about this in the morning,” he says, and Namjoon isn't sure if that's a threat or a promise. “We're. We're gonna fuckin' _talk_ about this.”

“Okay hyung,” Namjoon replies, his nose in Yoongi's soft, damp hair. He's not crying anymore, and his fingers are slipping around Namjoon's, tucked safe and chastely against Namjoon's taller body. He's not crying anymore, and Namjoon feels the vise around his heart start to loosen. “Okay.”

 


End file.
